Sonnet Vii: How Soon Hath Time, The Subtle Thief Of Youth

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on wtih full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

Time. Milton is talking about a universal theme of humanity. The passing of time. The fleeting nature of time. What does our life matter in the end? The same haunting questions that affect people who lived hundreds of years before Milton and people today. How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth/Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!